


Dragon Riders United

by stormynights



Category: Eragon (2006), The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Arya - Freeform, Dragon Riders United, Eragon - Freeform, Eragon and Arya, F/M, Firnen - Freeform, Gen, Murtagh and Nasuada, Other, Saphira - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:43:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormynights/pseuds/stormynights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting from the chapter entitled Fírnen in Inheritance, this chapter starts off when Arya and Eragon meet. Only, things do not go as they did in the actual book. Let's just say Arya and Eragon might not have to be separated for ever...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon Riders United

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken some from the actual book to try to blend as seamlessly as possible from the real book into my alternate ending. Also... this is my first attempt writing a fan fic!

**Fírnen**

As Eragon and Saphira waited by the bend in the Ramr River, they noticed a spark of emerald fire far off in the distant skies. The point of light danced across the azure sky drawing ever nearer. They waited as long as they could as the green spark drew closer, but finally their curiosity got the better of them. Eragon unceremoniously dropped the stone dagger he had been carving, climbed onto Saphira’s back and quickly strapped his legs into her saddle. Saphira unfurled her wings and lurched into the air. Eragon clutched the neck spike in front of him to avoid impaling himself as usual. As they drew closer, a form began to emerge from the sea of clouds…

_Saphira, is… is that what I think it is?_

_We shall see little-one… but let us not get our hopes up quite yet._ Yet, a definite sense of hope was perceptible in her voice.

A few moments later their suspicions were proved true, as the form of a glittering green dragon burst through the mist. Saphira could contain herself no longer. She uttered a resonant bugle and began to flap her wings faster so as to meet the new dragon as quickly as possible.

Their feelings alternated between elation and a wariness born of too many battles. In their caution it pleased them that the sun as to their backs and that they remained above the unknown green dragon. Upon closer inspection, Eragon noticed that the dragon, while well built and healthy, still had some of the gangly traits of youth—his limbs did not yet have the stocky weight of Glaedr or Thorn—and he was still smaller than Saphira. The scales along his back and sides were a dark forest green, while those upon his belly and footpads were lighter. The smallest ones were even verging upon white. His wings ranged from the color of holly leaves to the color of oak leaves in the spring when the light of the sun shone through them.

After noting all the splendorous characteristics of the dragon, Eragon notice that at the juncture between his neck and back was a saddle very similar to Saphira’s, and on this saddle sat a figure that—unless he was mistaken—looked to be Arya. Eragon would never mistake the form of her body and the way her dark hair streamed from her head unbound. The sight filled Eragon with untendered joy, and he found old hopes and dreams making themselves known inside his mind again.

He grinned and let loose a yell just as Saphira roared into the wind. The other dragon roared in response, and they began to circle as if chasing each other’s tails. Saphira remained slightly above the younger dragon, who made no attempt to climb over her. If he had, Eragon would have feared he was attempting to gain advantage over them before attacking.

Arya shouted back and raised her arm. Then Eragon reached out to touch her mind, just to be sure it was the real Arya and not some elaborate illusion. He _knew_ in an instant that it really was her, and they she and the dragon meant them no harm. He withdrew after the briefest contact because it would have been impolite to prolong the mental contact without her consent; they could talk in a moment when they were on the ground.

Saphira and the green dragon roared again and chased each other through the air until they reached the Ramr River. There Saphira took the lead and lead them down to the same grassy rise where she and Eragon had been waiting. The green dragon landed moments later, settling into a low crouch so that Arya could easily dismount.

Eragon dismounted as quickly as possible, fumbling with the leg straps in his haste. He ran to Arya, and she to him. The met in the middle between the two dragons, who followed at a more leisurely pace, with each step reverberating across the ground.

As he drew near, Eragon saw a new look in Arya’s eyes, one free of the constant worry and anxiety that had been her usual expression. In all other respects, she looked much the same. The leather strip she used to keep her hair back still rested upon her brow, but upon her waist sat a green-hilted sword in a green sheath. Eragon recognized the blade as Támerlein, the sword the elf lord Fiolr has offered him as replacement for Zar’roc. However, the hilt looked different than he recalled, lighter and more graceful, and the sheath appeared narrower.

Arya spoke first saying, “Atra esterni ono thelduin, Eragon.”

“Atra du evarinya ono varda, Arya.” It did not escape him that she chose to greet him first.

Beside them, Saphira and the green dragon brought their heads together and sniffed one another. Saphira was taller; the green dragon had to stretch his neck to reach her.

Eragon could not help but stare at the green dragon. “And him?” he asked, motioning towards him.

Arya smiled  and then surprised him by taking his hand and leading him forward. The dragon snorted and lowered his head until it hung just above them, smoke and steam rising from the depths of his crimson nostrils.

“Eragon,” she said as she placed his hand on the dragon’s warm snout with hers on top, “this is Fírnen. Fírnen, this is Eragon.”

Eragon looked into one of Fírnen’s brilliant eyes, whose varied bands of muscle were the color of new blades of grass.

_I am very glad to meet you, Eragon-friend-Shadeslayer,_ said Fírnen. His mental voice was deeper than that of Thorn or Glaedr, or even any of the Eldunari from Vroengard. _My Rider has told me very much about you._ In his voice Eragon detected a small amount of amusement, which puzzled him.

In Fírnen’s wide, sunlit mind planked as it was with transparent shadows, Eragon could feel the dragon’s immense excitement.

Wonder swept through Eragon that such a thing had come to pass. After all these years, the last of Galbatorix’s eggs had hatched for Arya. If only Fírnen’s egg had been the one stolen instead of Saphira’s he may very well still be in Carvahall with Roran and Garrow sitting on the porch. “I am glad to meet you as well, Fírnen-finiarel. I never though that I wold live to see you hatched and free of Galbatorix’s spells.”

The emerald dragon snorted softly. He looked proud and full of energy, like a stag in fall. Then he returned his gaze to Saphira. Between the two of them much passed; through Saphira, Eragon could feel the flow of thoughts, emotions, and sensations, swell into a torrent.

Arya smiled. “They seem to have taken to one another.”

“They most certainly have.”

By unspoken consent, he and Arya walked out from under the shadow of Saphira and Fírnen, leaving the two dragons to themselves. Both dragons did not sit as they normally would but rather they remained in a half crouch, as if they were about to pounce upon a deer. The tips of their tails twitched.

Neither of them spoke for a while as they watched their dragons. Then Arya turned to him and said, “I apologize for not contacting you sooner; you must think poorly of me for ignoring you and Saphira for this long and for keeping Fírnen such a secret.”

“Did you receive my letter?”

“Yes, I did.” To his surprise, she reached inside her tunic and removed a battered square of parchment that he recognized as his letter. It appeared as if it had been folded many times, almost like Arya had spent many nights reading and worrying over it. “I would have answered you, but I did not want to lie to you about Fírnen, even by omission.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“There are still many of Galbatorix’s spies on the loose, and letters have a way of getting into the wrong hands. With so few dragons remaining, I did not want anyone finding out about Fírnen until he was large enough to defend himself—“

“—but what human, dwarf, Urgal, or even Shade for that matter, could sneak into Du Weldervarden and hurt him or you?”

“There is always a possibility… Stranger things have happened. With the dragons still on the brink of extinction, I could not take any risks. If I could keep Fírnen safe in Du Weldervarden for the next hundred years, until he was so large that none would even think of attacking him, I would! But he wished to leave, and so did I. Besides, the time has come for me to meet Nasuada and Orik with my new role, and also to continue my work as an ambassador for my people. The elves have chosen the successor to my mother’s throne… I guess I should tell you about my time since we were last together.”

Eragon could feel Fírnen showing and telling Saphira about the various aspects of his life with the elves. To Eragon’s surprise, he briefly saw Arya framed in the doorway of Oromis’s old hut. He knew that Arya was aware of this exchange because he saw a brief flash of sadness in her eyes.

“What was that?” asked Eragon. His voice filled with sadness at the memory of his old teacher.

“I guess I will begin my tale with that then… After my return to Ellesméra, I moved to the Crags of Tel’naeír. It seemed only right to raise him where Oromis lived with Glaedr.”

“That does seem right. I think Oromis would appreciate the symmetry. The younger generation must always come to fill the roles their elders once held…” Silence now fell between them. Then Eragon gestured to Fírnen and said, “How did all of this happen?”

A small smile appeared on Arya’s face. “On our return to Ellesméra, I noticed that Fírnen was beginning to stir within his shell, but I thought nothing of it, as Saphira had often done the same. However, once we passed through the wards of Du Weldervarden, he hatched. It was twilight, and I was carrying his egg in my lap, as I used to carry Saphira’s. I was speaking to him, telling him of the world and reassuring him that he was safe. Then I felt the egg shake and… there he was.” She shivered; a bright film of tears became visible in her eyes. “The bond is everything I ever imagined it would be! When we touched… Did you know that I always wanted to be a Dragon Rider, Eragon? I wanted to be able to protect my people and avenge my father’s death at the hands of Galbatorix and the Forsworn. When we first met I was rather jealous of you. All those years ferrying Saphira back and forth and she hatched for a mere farm-boy… Ah, but then I got to know Saphira; I would not have been the right Rider for her. I never let myself believe that it would come to pass, not until I saw the first crack appear in Fírnen’s egg that is.”

“When you touched, did you—“

“Yes.” She lifted her hand and showed him the silvery mark on her palm. It was the same as his own gedwëy ignasia. “It felt like…” She paused, searching for the words.

“Like ice-cold water that tingled and snapped like lightning?” he suggested.

“Exactly.” Without seeming to notice, she shivered and crossed her arms, as if chilled.

“So you returned to Ellesméra,” said Eragon. Now Saphira was telling Fírnen about swimming in Leona Lake. “And you went to live on the Crags of Tel’naeír. But what of the throne?”

“Däthedr and the other elders of our race came to the house on the crags, and they asked me to take up my mother’s mantle. I refused, but they returned the next day, and the day after that, and every day for a week, and each time with new arguments for why I should accept the crown. But every day I had new arguments for why I would not be the best for our people. In the end I convinced them that my cousin Legolas would be the ideal king.”

“I did not know you had any family besides Islanzadi,” said Eragon, surprised.

“Yes, he is the son of my father’s younger sister. She died long ago. Legolas is far older than I, and has been in the advisory council of my mother for many, many years. He understands our politics. Our politics are far more complicated than those of the humans or the dwarves, and choosing a new monarch is never easy. It involves obtaining consent from dozens of houses and families, as well as several of the older members of our race, and every choice they make is part of a subtle game that we have been playing amongst ourselves for thousands of years.… The elders initially wanted me to become queen, but I fear it was because Islanzadi was my mother and because I was now a Rider. As a Dragon Rider, my duty lies with all the people of Alagaësia, not just the elves. I could not accept the crown and support one race above the others.”

“I am glad you made this decision. I believe that it would be difficult for the people of Alagaësia to trust our order if you were the queen of the elves, of who many already mistrust.” Eragon was secretly very pleased with Arya’s decision. He could now envision a bright future, where he and Arya would work together to rebuild their order and raise the next generation of dragons.

Eragon motioned toward her sword. “I take it Rhunön reworked Támerlein to better fit you?”

“She did, and she grumbled about it the whole while. She kept saying the blade was perfect the way it was, but I am very well pleased with the changes she made; the sword balances as it should in my hand now, feels no heavier than a switch, and matches my fighting style perfectly.”

As they stood watching the dragons, Eragon tried to think of a way to tell Arya of their plans and perhaps ask her to go with them. Before he could come up with the right words, she said, “You and Saphira have been well?”

“We have.”

“And what else of interest has occurred since you wrote?”

Eragon thought for a minute, then told her in brief about the attempts on Nasuada’s life, the uprisings in the north and the south, the birth of Roran and Katrina’s daughter, Roran’s ennoblement, and the list of treasures they had recovered from within the citadel. Lastly, he told of their return to Carvahall and their visit to Brom’s final resting place.

While he spoke, Saphira and Fírnen began to circle each other, the tips of their tails whipping back and forth faster than ever. They both had their jaws slightly open, baring their long white teeth, and they were breathing thickly through their mouths and uttering low, whining grunts, the likes of which Eragon had never heard before. almost as if they were going to attack each other, which worried him, but the feeling from Saphira was not one of anger or fear. It was—

_I want to test him_ , said Saphira. She slapped her tail against the ground, causing Fírnen to pause.

_Test him? How? For what?_

_To find out if he has the iron in his bones and the fire in his belly to match me._

_Are you sure?_ he asked, understanding her intent.

She again slapped her tail against the ground, and he felt her certainty and the strength of her desire.  _I know everything about him—everything but this. Besides—she displayed a flash of amusement—it’s not as if dragons mate for life._

_Very well.… But be careful._

He had barely finished speaking when Saphira lunged forward and bit Fírnen on his left flank, drawing blood and causing Fírnen to snarl and spring backward. The green dragon growled, appearing uncertain of himself, and retreated before Saphira as she prowled toward him.

_Saphira!_  Chagrined, Eragon turned to Arya, intending to apologize.

Arya did not seem upset. To Fírnen, and to Eragon as well, she said, If you want her to respect you, then you have to bite her in return.

She raised an eyebrow at Eragon, and he responded with a wry smile, understanding.

 

 

 


End file.
